


A New Accord of Madness - A Gimbles-In-The-Wabe Story

by grievousGrimalkin



Series: The Lives and Times of Gimbles-In-The-Wabe [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Backstory, Other, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9835130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grievousGrimalkin/pseuds/grievousGrimalkin
Summary: As the news of the Pact filters into Senim Manor, hope for freedom begin to blaze in a young Argonian man's heart. When his hopes are seemingly dashed and everything falls apart, a dapper man in purple and gold comes to pay him a visit with the offer that will set him free...ish...The first episode of the backstory for @grievousGrimalkin's Vestige, Gimbles-in-the-Wabe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be majorly advised that this first chapter contains a rather explicit depiction of rape. The first portion of the chapter is fine to read if this is a sensitive issue for you. A visible divider featuring the initials "TW" will set off where one should stop reading if they chose to avoid the content. If you chose to skip the scene, please jump to chapter 2 which picks up shortly after and is easy enough to follow without the skipped portions.

The news slithered through Senim Manor like a crocodile sliding into the swamp.

“Did you hear?” hissed a mine-slave to the lowliest kitchen drudge over the back of the crippled guar he was delivering for the slaughter.

“On the mainland, in Thorn?” the drudge whispered to the butcher as he watched the blood drip from the table.

“There was a revolt,” the butcher murmured into the ear of the scullery-slave when she delivered her knives to be washed.

“They say our kin there broke free of their master,” hissed the scullery-slave to her shackled brother as he dropped off his cutlery from dicing ash yams.

“And marched to Stonefalls to help drive the Akaviri back!” the brother relayed to his wizened mother who warmed her scales by the kitchen fire, minding the saltrice kettle.

“They say there’s talk of a Pact,“ whispered the old mother to the kitchen head who absently twiddled the lock on his enchanted bracer as surveyed her work.

“There’s talk of freedom,” the kitchen head hissed to the house-slave as he handed off the tray destined for the masters’ table.

For the first time that he could remember, Rus-Meht felt hope flutter in his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tray he carried was heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the weight of the thoughts whirling in his head. Freedom. No more performing mundanities for lazy yet perfectly able-bodied bigots. No more enduring the Lady’s wandering hands and eyes. No more watching his fellows’ beatings or enduring his own. His heart swelled, and he paused to heave a heavy sigh before composing himself and entering the dining room.

The Senims’ guest, a figure draped in the crimson extravagance of a Telvanni noble, had been seated at the head of the table with the roaring fireplace and kitchen entrance at her back. Dressed in the underwhelming finery of minor nobility and seated such that they needn’t see the slaves waiting behind them either, were Lady and Master Senim. As Rus-Meht set each plate before the diners, he could not help but note the guest’s appraising ogle over the rim of the glass from which she sipped. The guest’s gaze followed him even as he set his tray aside and assumed his position beside the fireplace, but before long she was drawn into the conversation and meal before her.

The Senims, that night, were hosting one of the Telvanni councilors, Wizard Daynasa Andrethi. As Faris Senim served as Daynasa’s Mouth, and her husband Venosi was merely an Oathman with House Telvanni, the Senims both proudly demonstrated their sycophantic devotion to Mistress Andrethi, who basked in the fawning they doted upon her as though it alone regenerated her magicka. Several years past, the Mistress had put Venosi in charge of overseeing the Andrethi mining enterprises in eastern Vvardenfell to allow the Mistress and the Lady to deal with council business unobstructed. While the slaves in the Manor and in the nearby mines were overseen by Venosi and his men, Mistress Andrethi actually owned them.

Rus-Meht had blanked his face and was deep in his own thoughts, pondering the hope swelling within him when the conversation shifted to the topic that so keenly interested him.

“And what is this I’ve heard from the mainland?” Master Senim asked around a cheek-full of roast guar. “Something about runaway slaves rescuing Almalexia?” he chuckled unctuously as he washed his meat down with a noisy gulp of sujamma. “Surely, our great House has no need for the mainlanders’ Pact?”

“Oh, don’t worry your head, Venosi,” Mistress Andrethi chided with a dismissing wave of her snifter of Imperial brandy. “Be certain that your betters among the Telvanni hierarchy have no interest in participating in this so-called Pact. Your meager standing is under no threat from the other Houses’ mainland shenanigans. We Telvanni have our own methods of keeping the Akaviri dregs away from our holdings, and we like our lizards exactly where they are, Akaviri and Argonian alike.” She smugly sipped from her glass. “After all, if the Argonians are so foolish as to come to the rescue of those they proclaim to despise, at the behest of a tree no less, they don’t really deserve freedom now, do they?”

Though Rus-Meht fought it, the sinking of his stomach resulted in a sudden intake of breath. His gasp was audible over Master Venosi’s hooting laughter. Lady Faris and Mistress Daynasa both spun to look at him, and, though neither rose from their seat, both mages flung their hands up in a magical gesture that triggered the burning pain of his slave bracer. After 20 years of practice, Rus-Meht was usually able to withstand the bracer’s pain without collapse, but the combined powers of the two mages sent him crashing to his knees on the stone hearth. Lady Faris snapped her fingers, summoning two of the other dinner attendants who grabbed him under the arms, and Mistress Andrethi waved her hand at him once more. Before he lost consciousness from her spell, Rus-Meht heard the Lady’s command: “Take him away. We’ll deal with him after dinner.”

~~~~~~~~~TWTWTWTWTWTWTW~~~~~~~~~

The dim light of the cell greeted Rus-Meht when he came to. The sound of sniffling reverberated in the small room. He found the darkness to be almost pleasant, as he discovered that his head was splitting with pain when he attempted to move. As he shifted, the sniffles turned to a small gasp and quiet, terrified chiding.

“No, no, Rus, please don’t move.” The small voice belonged to Rus-Meht’s beloved, Seif-Ij, the scullery-slave who served in the kitchens. Rus-Meht dimly realized that his head was resting upon her lap. “Please,” she begged. “The Mistress and Lady took out so much anger upon your scales. You are in no condition to move, dear one.” She bent down and brushed her snout gently alongside his in an affectionate gesture reserved for the most intimate of Argonian associations. Rus-Meht relaxed against Seif-Ij’s lap, glad of this rare privacy to share affection with his dearest, despite the situation.

Rus-Meht tried to reach a hand up to stroke the smooth scales of her face but…couldn’t. He tried his other arm and found that it too refused to move, as did his legs. In fact, Rus-Meht quickly discovered he could move nothing below his head.

“What did they do to me, Seif?” he begged, starting to panic. He again tried lifting his head, but between the stars the motion brought to his vision, the darkness of the room, and the strong grip Seif-Ij suddenly placed upon his horns to keep him firmly in her lap, he could see no further.

“I am sorry, my love, but you really must not move. Please. Here. I have something for you to drink. I will try to explain.” Seif-Ij placed a damp sponge to his lips, and Rus-Meht obliged, taking a small pull of the liquid. From its musky scent and salty taste, Rus-Meht was suddenly very aware that the sponge was not full of water.

He coughed and sputtered. “What’s in that, Seif?”

“Please, relax. You must be calm, and let me give you your drink.” She pressed the sponge to his lips again with unnecessary force, smearing wetness clumsily across his face as he moved to pull away.

From out through the dark, and from closer than he thought possible, Rus-Meht heard a different voice panting from somewhere above his head. “I am sorry, Mistress. I…I can’t keep my focus. He’s resisting me.”

Suddenly, Seif-Ij was gone, and Rus-Meht’s surroundings were awash in lamplight that nearly blinded him. He was bound to a large bed, shackled to the bedposts so tightly that he could not move. Mere inches from his face, a long, grey hand stroked firmly at a glistening slit between a pair of pale, bare thighs. Rus-Meht recognized the panting voice instantly as Lady Senim’s, though with little of her usual fire. The stroking hand belonged to another naked figure who sat astride Rus-Meht’s hips, and though it took him a short moment, he recognized the second form as that of the Mistress Andrethi, whose face seemed to be buried against Lady Senim’s throat.

A quick glance at what of the room he could see around the writhing bodies above him conjured the dim realization that this was the Senims’ bedroom. He noticed with horror that, across the room, Master Venosi sat, slouching against the back of his chair and stroking his flushed gray member with vigor as he watched his wife’s Mistress at work.

Mistress Andrethi pulled back from the Lady’s throat, though not easing up on the firm massaging of her partner’s slit. With a sickening, imperious smile, she looked down and stared Rus-Meht in the eye.

“Remember your place next time, slave. It will always be below us.”

The Mistress waved her free hand across his face for the second time that night. The room darkened once more, the Senims disappeared, and Mistress Andrethi quickly changed. Her face elongated and grew a crown of soft plumes, and her grey skin took on the warm, red hue and delicate scales of Seif-Ij.

His mate draped her bare form upon his, nuzzling her smooth snout against his neck. As her mane of quills fell upon his face, Rus-Meht found even his terror suddenly overwhelmed with her scent: a heady, musky aroma that aroused a stirring deep in his gut. Despite the voice prickling the back of his mind that something was terribly wrong, he felt himself unfurl beneath Seif-Ij, a pair of sleek, sturdy organs unfolding from their usual pouch between his legs, seeking out the target they knew awaited them.

Seif-Ij slid herself down, enveloping Rus-Meht, and something in him screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, Rus-Meht lay curled on his pallet in the slave quarters. Kaj-Eix and Gee-Tsona, the two attendants who had removed him from the dining hall earlier, had carried him from the Senims’ room after the Dunmer had spent themselves. Though he could hardly move, Rus-Meht had still wrapped his tail around himself, tucked it tight between his legs, and pulled the rest of it close to his chest, as if to retroactively protect himself from the horrors of the past few hours.

He lay on his pallet in the dark, not moving, not sleeping, not thinking. All of the house slaves were on duty cleaning up after the extravagant feast and…entertainment that had followed, leaving him alone. He had no idea how much time he spent lying there, trying not to exist.

Eventually, a cautious hand quietly opened the door, spilling light upon the mess of pallets and blankets, but Rus-Meht continued staring blankly into space with his back to the door. A slender figure in ragged skirts picked its way silently across the room and settled beside him, gazing at his face, but still, he didn’t look up.

“Rus?” came the voice. Seif-Ij. He tensed and pulled away from her. “Rus, love, Gee-Tsona told me what happened.” Her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.” She was openly crying now and reached out to place a gentle hand upon his shoulder. “Please, let me help you…”

As soon as her hand settled upon his scales, the pile of reptile instincts before her lashed out, unable to separate this Seif-Ij from the magical illusions that the Mistress and Lady had employed. Rus-Meht’s hand darted out, slashing at her with his claws as he shoved himself back onto his hands and knees, arching his back and hissing like an angry Alfiq. Seif-Ij clambered backwards over the mess of bedding, screaming and clutching at her cheek where he had struck her.

Gee-Tsona and Kaj-Eix burst through the door (evidently they’d been eavesdropping on the couple) and tackled the snarling Rus-Meht to the ground. Seif-Ij’s piteous wails brought the rest of the slaves nearby rushing to the quarters, as the two burly Argonians wrestled Rus-Meht upright and hauled him, hissing and kicking, from the room. He struggled against their strong arms as they dragged him outside and threw him into one of the steel cages in the yard, slamming the door behind him and locking it tightly. Blind with rage, Rus-Meht threw himself at the bars, screaming now, and casting clawing swipes at Gee-Tsona and Kaj-Eix’s tails as the walked back into the quarters. The sharp edges of the bars scraped off patches of Rus-Meht’s green scales and chipped his horns, as he frantically threw himself at the cage.

Slowly, his screams turned to hisses turned to sobs, and he collapsed at the bottom of the cage. He rocked back and forth in a small ball, huddled against the bars, his mind repeating the only plea he could conjure:

_Someone save me from this madness._

_Someone save me from this madness._

_Someone save me from this madness._

“Oh, come-come, my reptilian friend. Surely you don’t want that.” A strange new voice pierced Rus-Meht’s daze, and the Argonian looked up. A dapper gentleman in purple and gold leaned on the bars of the cage, peering down at him with golden eyes winking wickedly out of the evening gloom. “I think a hint of madness is exactly what you need. And I should know!”

Rus-Meht’s tongue struggled with speech, hoarsely spitting his two big questions (“Who are you?” and “What do you want?”) out on top of each other. “Who do you want?”

“Ha! Cute.” The figure pulled back from the bars, tucked his arms behind his back, and began jauntily pacing in front of the cage. “I want you, of course! See, some other ‘god’…” (He made scrunching gesture with his fingers at this.) “…who _also_ likes going halvsies with his color scheme decided that I can’t give my gifts to any of his bland gray kinfolk. Which is perfectly fine. Plenty more for everyone else! In fact, I’m here to give you one.”

His voice turned dark, and he turned to face Rus-Meht again. “These elves.” He spat for good measure. “They have you quite locked down, my scaly friend. Oh, not just the chains and the bracers and the total emotional domination, no! They put a lock on some…special talents you inherited from your dear old grandpappy, a wily old Akaviri snake you never met because your egg was poached before you got to make your grand debut.” The gentleman laid a hand upon his heart and feigned wiping away a tear. “To me, there’s nothing sadder than a young man…er…reptile stripped of what’s rightfully coming to him.” His eyes flashed under a quirked brow. “I can give it back to you.”

“What are you talking about?” Rus-Meht choked out hoarsely. “I still don’t know who you are or what you want.”

“They call me lots of things, pup,” the gentleman said, leaning onto the bars again to peer down at the bloody form curled within. “The vermin you’ll shortly deal with would know me as the Fourth Corner, but I think you’ll prefer the name Sheogorath.” The name resonated dimly in Rus-Meht’s, mind bringing up memories of muttered, frustrated swearing and the occasional insult leveled over foolish errors. “Now what I want? I want to help you, my dear lizardy chum. There’s shenanigans coming down the pipes for both of us. And, by the by, all the Aurbis too, in fact, but who really cares about those sods?

“If you accept my offer, you’ll be the perfect leg-up on the situation for me. And you?” The Madgod crouched down near Rus-Meht’s face. “You’ll have the power to free yourself and take your revenge. You have nothing to lose from this arrangement…except maybe your soul, but you’d be losing it soon enough, even if I didn’t give you the power to reclaim it!” He concluded with a wink.

“What say you, my reptilian friend? Are you ready for the power to save your own self from this madness?” The Madgod’s promise breathed on the last ember of hope still flickering within Rus-Meht, and he sat up straighter on the floor of the cage.

“Yes, m’lord,” he said with a somber nod.

Sheogorath straightened up and squealed with girlish excitement, “Ooh! ‘M’lord’! I like you already. Take care, my boy, and don’t forget to keep your cool!” He clapped his hands twice, gave a little wave, and vanished into the darkness, but Rus-Meht didn’t notice.

As soon as Rus-Meht had said the words, his skin began to blaze with heat, white-hot and searing. He clenched his eyes shut and screamed from the pain, even as he felt the torn flesh of his arms knitting under his fingers where he was clutching at his scales in a frantic attempt to push down the pain. The burning sensation rolled over his body like waves, each pulse a fiery agony that eventually blanked his mind, and Rus-Meht knew no more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun’s brightness shone green through Rus-Meht’s eyelids when he finally awoke. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking out the light as he took stock of himself. The intense headache that had pounded through his head since dinner still plagued him, and his flesh crawled with the searing sting of burns. The night before suddenly flooded over him, and he bolted upright and held his arms out in front of him.

His scales were lustrous and unblemished, free of the scrapes and bloody slashes he’d remembered sustaining from the cage. They were not obviously burnt either, which didn’t match with the latent heat and stinging pain he felt upon them. His musing about this quickly faded from his mind, however, as his new sitting position had given him a view of his surroundings.

He lay in the courtyard of Senim Manor. What was left of it. Smoldering wreckage lay all around him, the moans of the wind through the burning timbers and the groaning and grating of the settling stones echoed eerily off of what was left of the walls. He rose slowly to his feet, surveying the devastation, when a shout rose up from behind him.

“YOU!” 

Rus-Meht spun around. Veesk-Eix, Seif-Ij’s brother, was picking his way through the wreckage toward him.

“Veesk…what…?” Rus-Meht began but not before Veesk-Eix had closed the distance between them and shoved his kinsman to the ground.

“What in Oblivion did you do, Rus-Meht?” the pale Argonian shouted. “What did you do?”

“What happened, Veesk? I don’t know,” Rus-Meht pleaded.

“You happened, Rus! This was all you. Gee and Kaj left you in the cage after you attacked my sister.” To punctuate the severity of that act, Veesk-Eix leveled a kick at Rus-Meht’s ribs that connected with a resounding crack. “The next thing we knew you were screaming, and suddenly everything was burning. You were burning, Rus-Meht. The steel bars of the cage literally melted. What in Oblivion did you do?”

“I…,” Rus-Meht gasped out, before he realized that he didn’t need to gasp. His ribs had been broken before, vicious kicks from angry overseers, and he remembered the pain and how he was unable to properly breathe until it had healed. This time, though his breathing continued as though nothing was wrong, and when he felt for the rib that Veesk-Eix had just audibly broken, he could almost feel it knitting under his fingers. The ache he remembered simply wasn’t there, replaced this time by the blazing painful heat he felt in his arms. Though the fire in his side was agonizing, he rose to his feet, slightly dazed. “There was…a…a man.”

“I don’t care about the man. Why did you have to kill the Senims?”

Rus-Meht was taken aback. “I…killed the Senims?”

“And the Mistress. Slashed them with burning magic in your claws and set the bed aflame. The Telvanni will be here any minute to put down this ‘slave rebellion’ and kill the few of us who survived, and it’s all your fault.” Veesk-Eix gave him another shove.

“The few who…Wait, where’s Seif?”

“The fire was so hot that our bracers warped and broke. Seif is long gone, and I will never let you see her again. Kaj-Eix fled with her, while I came back to find Mother. Mother and Gee didn’t make it by the way, so thank you for that.” He shoved Rus-Meht again and turned to leave. “I can’t stay around to help anybody else, not if I want to save my scales. I don’t know what kind of stunt you pulled to do this, and I don’t want to. Make yourself useful, and claim the responsibility when the Telvanni get here. Never come near what’s left of my family again.” Veesk-Eix climbed over the rubble again and left, leaving Rus-Meht alone amid the wreckage.

“Well, now. That was exciting!” A now-familiar voice called from behind him. Rus-Meht spun around to find the Madgod leaning on his cane by what had been the Manor’s gate.

“What happened here?” Rus-Meht challenged, marching toward the dapper figure.

“Exactly what I promised, my reptilian comrade! I unlocked your ancient Akaviri hocus-pocus exactly as promised and let you get your freedom and your revenge exactly as promised! I even advised you to keep your cool, but apparently you couldn’t manage that. Not a big deal,” Sheogorath shrugged. “You’ll have plenty of time to practice.”

“What do I do now?”

“Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it, my boy? I won’t have need of you for another few years, so keep an ear out…if you even have them…” The Madgod peered curiously at the sides of Rus-Meht’s head before shrugging. “So kill some slaves, free some elves, learn to read, I don’t know! You’re free now. The world is your mudcrab. Figure something out. I’m not your babysitter. I’d invite you to the Isles, but they’re a bit of a mess right now, and I’m all about good first impressions, my reptilian friend.”

Rus-Meht tried to protest, but the Madgod interrupted him with a wave of his cane. “Also? I’d consider a new name at this point. I have found that mortals have that nasty issue of staying alive to contend with, and the grays will be after you for this if any of your fellows run their mouth before getting roasted. It might be time for some subtlety, and considering that that’s never my personal preference, the fact that I’m even mentioning it at all should give it some oomph, my friend.” The Madgod doffed an invisible hat and turned on his heel to walk through what used to be the manor gate. “Watch yourself, my crocodilian compatriot. I’ll be back to pick up on your end of the bargain later, and if you die before I can, I have a certain yen for a new pair of boots.” As he crossed the threshold, the daedra vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared.

Rus-Meht, now truly alone, surveyed what remained of the only home he’d known. A wave of…something new came over him. Maybe…pride… His fear melted, and the twin fires of hope and hatred flared within his soul. He spat at the ground of the courtyard, squared his shoulders, stepped out through the empty gate, and he too vanished into the wilderness.


End file.
